


Breathe

by lildreidel



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Comfort, Dont know how to tag this, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 11:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildreidel/pseuds/lildreidel
Summary: Stan’s Bar Mitzvah was supposed to be perfect, given he happened to be a Rabbi’s son. He was supposed to be the epitome of a Good Jewish Boy, smoothly making his way into adulthood. But as usual, almost nothing goes to plan.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I didnt proofread this
> 
> Follow my tumblr @stanweyuris

Stan’s Bar Mitzvah was supposed to be perfect, given he happened to be a Rabbi’s son. He was supposed to be the epitome of a Good Jewish Boy, smoothly making his way into adulthood. But as usual, almost nothing goes to plan.

The actual ceremony was almost picture perfect at first; he read the blessing he had been practicing for weeks, his hair slicked back under his kippah and a perfectly ironed tallit over his shoulders. Stan’s father’s eyes burned into his back as he read, a look he knew perfectly well even if he wasn’t looking at him; it was scrutinizing, watching carefully for an incorrect pronunciation or a pubescent voice crack that could make the whole temple giggle.

Suffocating. 

Stan’s looked up ever so slightly, scanning the crowd briefly for a familiar face, anyone to get his mind off his father’s obvious examination of his reading. He recognized the faces of cousins he rarely talked to, aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his mom, but no one who could really lift the weight in his chest as he read; they were probably all judging him too. Then his eyes landed on Richie. Richie Tozier. The only friend who had decided to come to Stan’s Bar Mitzvah.

He was sat next to his mom(wasn’t her name Maggie?), his blue suit not lumpy like the rest of his clothes and his hair didn’t look as greasy. He was looking at Stan, eyeing him in a way that didn’t look analytic, like he wasn’t looking for the boy’s embarrassing voice cracks or for his voice to stumble over the Hebrew words(which was totally a Richie Tozier thing to do). He looked maybe even proud? The thought of that made Stan’s heart jump in his chest suddenly; someone might be proud of him? 

He finished the aliyah, followed by mutters that sounded like an amen from the crowd, everything he was used to hearing during Shabbat. Stan looked back at his father for acceptance or pride, but the rabbi simple pat the boy on the back and gave him the microphone for his speech. Oh shit. He completely forgot about this part. 

Stan’s hands started getting clammy as his entire congregation sat idly to hear his ‘inspirational’ speech where he talked about growing up and how if affected him it some shit like that. He could feel his father’s eyes on him again, waning on disappointment this time. He had to say something, and took a deep breath ready to bullshit this entire speech; anything to get his dad’s look off of him, even if it meant ruining his picture perfect ceremony.

And this is where his Bar Mitzvah went to shit. 

He was staring a Richie for most of it as he threw words together, saying that realizing that indifference is a sole part of becoming an adult, that you’re not protected from everything or cared for even if it feels like it as a child, spilling his entire guts and frustrations towards his dad, his family, this fucking town, and most importantly, his friends. His friends who made him go into Neibolt to see why everyone was screaming to find Eddie with a broken arm and a clown with a stake through its eyes. His friends that made jokes when Bowers pressed his face into snow until it bled last December. His friends who made him hop around in disgusting greywater to find a brother that was obviously long dead. His friends that acted like they never cared for him, ever. 

“Stanley.” Rabbi Uris muttered towards Stan, trying to get the microphone out of his hands before he could keep going. Stan stopped talking for just a moment to yank the microphone away from his dad’s hands, walking off the podium and into the aisle. 

“Becoming an adult according to the holy scripture—“ He continued before he ran out of microphone cord and he started to go down the aisle, so he stopped and stared pointedly at his dad. “—of Derry...is learning not to give a shit.” He dropped the mic and walked out, stomping his feet to maybe get the message across that this little Jewish boy is pissed and fed up. He heard someone clap as he walked out, obviously from Richie; that was maybe the only part that made him smile.

—

Stan wanted to bike down to the barrens and sit and cry over what he just did, but sadly his bike was at home and halfway across town almost. So instead he took to sitting on the sidewalk just outside of synagogue, his arms hugging his knees and his tallit strewn behind him as he contemplated what the fuck he just did. He had single-handedly lost any respect his father might have for him along with embarrassing him to the entire congregation. He was never going to hear the end of this and his parent were probably going to bury him alive when they finally came out of the temple. His fingers were shaking and tears threatened his eyes, he was so fucking dead for this, soooo fucking d—

He heard a door open and footsteps that ended up right behind him. Stan took a deep breath, ready to beg mercy from his parents to not strangle him in his sleep. 

“Dad—“ He began but was almost immediately cut off.

“Oh, you calling me daddy now? Don’t you think it's a little too early for that, Stanny?”

Oh. It’s was Richie. 

For once, Stan was relieved that Trashmouth had come to check up on him, no less sent by his parents to make sure he hadn’t sat in the road in embarrassment for the scene he had just made in there. He would never tell him, but hearing Richie’s voice instead of his parents felt like a weight was lifted out of his stomach. 

Richie took a seat on the curb with Stan, and the Jewish boy finally got a good look at him since Neibolt happened over two weeks ago. Richie had looked like he finally showered, cleaned his fingerprints of his glasses and overall cleaned up pretty nicely in his ironed blue suit(and wow, he looked good in it). Stan looked back down to the pavement, feeling heat in his cheeks; he cursed himself for gazing too long at his friend. 

“You’re real ballsy, Uris.” Richie finally said to break the silence. “I really didn’t think you had it in you to do that kinda shit.” The boy sighed deeply and grabbed his heart dramatically, putting on that wailing mother voice he used for times exactly like these.

“My boy, he’s learned so well from his mama Tozier!”

Stan had to laugh at that, the voice sounding so different from Richie’s own that it actually kinda impressed him(not like he’d tell him that, it’ll inflate his ego more than it already was). 

“You know I’m dead, right?” Stan said. “Like, my parents are probably going to bury me alive and piss on my grave when I get home. I’m going to have to change my name and move to Yemen to live as a sheep farmer at this rate.”

“Well, if you need a wonderful husband to marry for tax benefits over in Yemen, I’m always here for you.” Richie replied. Stan couldn’t help but grin at his stupid comments. They sat in silence after that, Richie now pressing his fingertips against loose rocks on the road; Stan knew that it was really Richie thing, for him to need constant stimulation when there was a long silence he happened to be apart in and couldn’t talk his way out of. He noticed it in class when he rolled his pencil in his hand whenever a teacher was giving a long lecture, or when he tapped his foot in anticipation for a snarky comment when Bill or Eddie was going on a tangent about whatever Bill and Eddie might talk about. It was so incredibly Richie that Stan just couldn’t put this stupid information back into his mind, watching the boy’s hands as they pressed against the rocks.

The silence continued like that, Richie messing with the rocks and Stan side-eyeing him intently as he did it. The two obviously weren’t sure what to say next, despite being best friends. In a normal conversation, banter would fill the holes in the quiet or at least snarky comments and shitty comebacks would do the trick to avoid awkward silence. 

“Look, I know what you were talking about during that speech.” Richie said, finally deciding to break the quiet. “I know that you think...we don’t care for you or like you, I get it! Sometimes I think that too when you guys constantly ‘Beep, Beep’ or tell me, ‘no one cares, Richie’!”

Stan’s gaze fell when the other boy mentioned the Loser’s constant belittlement of him; it was obviously a joke at first, just some friends tired of hearing jokes about screwing Eddie’s mom or some kind of corny joke he cooked up while in the shower, but he could see how it might feel like they genuinely didn’t want him around. 

“I’m so sorry if we make you feel that way, dude. I—“ Stan began, but was interrupted by Richie’s finger to his mouth.

“My emotional baggage is for another day, Stan the man.” The dark-haired boy said. “I just, I wanted to let you know I’m sorry, and this sorry comes from the rest of the losers, too.”

“I’m sorry if it felt like we didn’t care for you, Stan. I—We do genuinely love you. We love having you around even if all you do is talk about bird’s sex calls.” Richie pressed his glasses against his nose, looking down at the pavement in embarrassment—obvious from a blush growing on his face. “Sorry I got all corny on ya, Stanny. Not really in character for me.”

Stan wasn’t sure what to say at Richie’s words; Trashmouth never got that emotional or deep, ever. The words didn’t feel hollow to him for once either as they usually did, usually in an attempt to reassure him that his self-hatred hadn’t spread to his other friends to make them hate him as well. 

When words wouldn’t come to his head, Stan took the physical route and hugged Richie. It was a tight hug by his own standards—though some might disagree from the lack of muscle on his arms—but he prayed that this hopefully got the message across to his friend. 

Richie went stiff for just a moment, probably in shock that the Jewish boy would even want to be in a two mile radius of him and much less touch him, before leaning into the hug and putting his arms around Stan’s waist. 

“Thank you.” Stan muttered into Richie’s shoulder, muffled slightly by the suit’s fabric. 

The hug lasted a bit too long, slowly losing its tightness as they both realized it was kinda weird for two teenage boys to hug for this long. Richie let go first, pressing his glasses up on his nose once again, a red blush flushing his freckled cheeks. Stan could feel the heat radiating off his face, so he assumed he looked the same. 

It was obvious they both wanted to say something again, but they were interrupted by the doors of the synagogue opening and footsteps clamoring down the stairs. Stan looked back to see his mother at the front of the pack, genuine worry in her face as she made her way to her son sitting on the sidewalk.

“Forgot to tell you he didn’t sit in the road, Mrs. Uris.” Richie greeted, trying to hide the blush on his face. 

“Stanley James Uris,” his mother began, brushing off Richie‘s comment. “Your dad is furious with you currently; you really had to embarrass him didn’t you?” Her face full of worry was turning into a weird mix of anger and disappointment. 

“I’m...sorry.” Stan replied. He knew that sorry wasn’t enough to fix the scene he had just caused, but he truly did mean it. “I really am, I just…” He trailed off from his sentence, not sure if he wanted to continue it.

Mrs. Uris rolled her eyes and gestured both boys up, brushing rocks off both their suits. “We’ll talk about this at home, Stanley. For now, can you please try not to embarrass us again? We spent too much money on your afterparty for you to stomp out again.” She was already walking down the street before the Jewish boy could reply

Richie looked at him and grinned, taking his hand before walking down the street. “I think I deserve all the cake for making sure you didn’t kill yourself, Stan the man.”

“Beep, beep, Richie.” Stan replied with a grin on his face.


End file.
